


Come Back Alive

by aaabattery



Category: Leverage
Genre: Blowjobs, Breathplay, Damien is having a bad day, Dubious Consent, M/M, No Aftercare, Porn with Feelings, Pre-Series, There is a lot to unpack here, it's complicated - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-09-18
Updated: 2019-09-18
Packaged: 2020-10-20 23:17:14
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,699
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20683577
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/aaabattery/pseuds/aaabattery
Summary: When Eliot walks into the living area of Damien’s high rise apartment in Rome, the first thing he hears is “kneel”. He swallows. The tone implies it is a demand. It implies Damien is unhappy. Either with Eliot himself, or, more likely, with someone else who he cannot hurt as easily as he can hurt Eliot. Eliot kneels. Damien Moreau is not a patient man.Or,Damien says "Jump".Eliot says "Yes, sir."





	Come Back Alive

**Author's Note:**

> DEAD DOVE DO NOT EAT.
> 
> A lot of things mentioned in here tie into head canons. Especially the scars, which I may write on at a later date. This is not fluffy and rainbows. This is dubious consent in the fact that Eliot cannot really say "No", but doesn't exactly want to, either. It's psychological. All things considered, this is the softer of how it was supposed to go.

When Eliot walks into the living area of Damien’s high rise apartment in Rome, the first thing he hears is “kneel”. He swallows. The tone implies it is a demand. It implies Damien is unhappy. Either with Eliot himself, or, more likely, with someone else who he cannot hurt as easily as he can hurt Eliot. Eliot kneels. Damien Moreau is not a patient man. He is not a man who accepts hesitation or anything less than full and complete devotion of those below him. The man’s belt is already being pulled off by the time Eliot’s knees hit the soft rug. The thin black leather wraps around his throat. Eliot takes a steadying breath. It was a bad night at his meeting then. If Damien was bringing out choking with something other than his hands -- Eliot knew that it was not a good night.

Damien’s pants fall, as do the boxer briefs below them. Damien Moreau is not exceptionally large -- he’s average, perhaps a bit above. But it was a moot point when he was in charge. Eliot wastes no time slowly taking the older man into his mouth, feeling the belt tighten around his throat at the same time. The hand not on the belt tangles into Eliot’s hair. The enforcer is still fully clothed in what he was wearing before Chapman had told him he was being summoned. He gags a bit, forcing himself to breathe, slowly, as best as he could. It wasn’t as panic inducing as it once had been. He knew, even in his most frustrated and angriest -- Damien would never kill him. Hurt, maim, severely injure? Sometimes.  <strike> Usually </strike> . But never kill. Eliot knew his value. And he was quite valuable to Damien Moreau -- both as a soldier and as …  _ this _ . 

Eliot let’s Damien set the pace, rough, hard. He stopped trying to keep up, just letting Damien use him this way. It was easier. The hand in his hair tightened. But Damien also knows what he enjoys -- and the sting from the tightness of the hand around the brown strands makes him squirm. Damien slows down, loosening the belt and fully removing himself from Eliot’s mouth. He drags him to his feet by his hair, leaning down to crash their lips together. It’s rough and heated and Damien lets it last, savoring it. His grip in the hair softens. It is clear he’s gotten most of the edge off his mood, though his eyes tell a different story.

Damien drags them apart, staring at him. The room is fairly dark, but there’s enough light to glint off Damien’s dark eyes. Hazel-green in the light are now seemingly voids of which Eliot is prisoner. Leaving his bottom clothes where they fell, Damien growls, “Bedroom.” 

It is only the second word he has said to him tonight. Eliot complies, moving quickly to the room. The light is left off. It’s not his place to turn it on. When Damien enters, pulling off tie and button up, leaving him in nothing, he flicks on the lamp beside the bed. It casts a soft glow. Eliot stands rigid, waiting for orders. Damien’s eyes roam his body. “Strip.” He commands.

“Yes, sir.” Eliot responds out of habit. He disrobes smoothly, but quickly. Damien didn’t want a show. Damien wanted results. Usually, it was slower. Damien took time to torment Eliot -- to savor him. But this wasn’t about Eliot. This was strictly about Damien. When he stands nude before him, Damien’s eyes scan his body, moving forward. This time, when the hands touch him they are softer. Eliot doesn’t trust it. And he is quickly rewarded with why  _ not _ to trust those gentle, long, pale fingers running over his chest. It quickly becomes nails digging into the flesh, leaving trails as he drags them down his body.

Eliot takes the time to focus elsewhere, on Damien’s body. Damien was broader, stronger than the suits often let on. He wasn’t bulky, but strong nonetheless. It was no wonder he attracted so many like moths to a flame. He was handsome, fit, rich. It was a shame the personality was someone that would give the devil himself a run for his money. Eliot also knew about the scars -- many saw them, but few got to know. But Eliot did. His own hands trail up to rest on Damien’s biceps. Their lips meet in a heated kiss, Eliot’s hands squeezing lightly. Damien breaks the kiss by pushing the enforcer backward, roughly. His eyes flicker up to meet his boss’s. Still dark. Still cold. But there’s also a fire. There’s also a spark. Lust, he knew. Eliot let’s his legs fall wide as he falls back, his arms reaching above his head. A habit.

Damien is pinning him in an instant, one hand holding down Eliot’s wrists, the other wrapping around his dick. He moves his hand slowly, his lips bite and suck at Eliot’s neck and chest, leaving red marks that will surely turn to bruises tomorrow. Marking, claiming. Eliot is  _ his _ . 

Eliot knows this of course, Damien would never let him forget such a key factor in his employment. He was Damien’s. In mind, in body.  _ in soul _ . He lets out a soft keen and Damien stops, “Not a sound.” He orders, and so Eliot falls silent. Damien knows how to make him fall apart under him. Bring him right to the edge in such a short time. But his hand leaves before Eliot can get the relief he wants. Instead, Damien rummages through the bedside table, giving Eliot a chance to feel his orgasm ebbing away from where it came, though he was still rock hard at attention. He could see Damien’s cock, hard and leaking. 

But no attention is paid to it, right now. 

Instead, Damien returns to stroking him. Bringing him back up to the edge -- watching him squirm with silent need, but once more not giving him a chance to fully reach his peak. He does this once more. Eliot is sweaty and it is clear Damien is growing bored of this brand of torture -- though, he’s always know of Damien’s voyeuristic tendencies. 

( The fact he had once let Eliot pick someone else, then watched Eliot fuck the other while Damien watched had been a little bit of a clue. )

The denial done for now, Damien moves him, directing him with hands and hits and scowls until he is exactly where the dark haired man wanted.

Eliot now has his head pressed against the sheets ( silk, soft and expensive -- only the  _ best _ , of course ). His ass is in the air, and his arms are out in front of him. It isn’t easy, but there is a nice stretch. Damien, who during this time had been rolling on a condom and warming up some lube on his fingers, was actually somehow nicer that he usually was. But, as if to still feel himself in a bit more control, the belt wraps around Eliot’s throat, forcing his head to arch back. A few fingers work him open and ready, and then, Damien is inside. 

The belt restricts, but doesn’t prohibit. He knows it is mostly for Damien, though he won’t deny there is a small rush from the action that seems to flow directly to his neglected cock. One large hands settles on his back, giving better leverage for Damien to move in and out and keep a good hold on the belt. He begins a rhythm. He tightens the belt for three plunges -- in and out, in and out, in and out -- and relaxes it for two counts -- in and out, in and out. Eliot squirms a bit, trying to get some friction on his cock, but his hips are too far up to be much use. 

A dark chuckle escapes Damien, but in a rare moment of pity, he reaches for a pillow, sliding it just so that Eliot can get some friction as he is moved by Damien’s thrusts. But, the belt tightens and the pace picks up. In and out. In and out. It is clear it isn’t for Eliot’s benefit. The fact that Damien is even giving Eliot a chance to get himself off after his edging earlier speaks to the fact that Damien is thanking him, in a way. Eliot let’s himself get the friction as Damien thrusts in and out, increasing speed and lengthening the time with the belt tight around Eliot’s neck. Damien’s hips spluttered soon, his nails digging into Eliot’s back, the belt pulling tight, before being loosened, all but falling off Eliot’s neck. 

Damien takes a breath, his chest rising and falling, before he pulls out, laying beside Eliot. They share a look and Eliot rolls over, his hand initially reaching to stroke himself off, when, instead, Damien beats him there. Damien moves his mouth to swallow down all of Eliot in one go. Eliot was slightly larger than Damien was, but that seemed of little concern to the man, who took him deep and slow. Eliot’s eyes flicker closed, and he can’t stop himself. A few movements of Damien later and he is cumming. Damien spits it out, onto his stomach. He moves up, kissing Eliot, running his hand over his throat.

“I need you to do something for me.” Damien whispers, pressing a kiss to the corner of Eliot’s mouth. “The file on the table. Eliminate him. Tonight.” 

It’s nearing midnight. But that meant little for Damien. Eliot was tired, exhausted from both the day and their tryst. But he knew better than to expect aftercare from Damien Moreau. That was just how it was when you slept with the devil.

Damien rolls away, moving to clean himself up, and change into something for bed, most likely. The expression ‘no rest for the wicked’ was bullshit. It was ,no rest for those who served the wicked’, at least when Damien Moreau was concerned. Eliot let’s his heart and breathing return to normal and moves from the bed, redressing and departing. No words are shared. But a glance -- eyes a softer hazel-green now -- between the two of them in the mirror. Silence, but loudness.

<strike> _ Come Back Alive. _ </strike>


End file.
